Chapter Text
Zanka wished he could take all his words back.
While traveling with his siblings was admittedly stifling, it paled in comparison to dinner at the Tunito family manor. This was, quite literally, a living hell.
Young Master Follo, his fiancé, was undeniably a man of gentle disposition, but he was unfortunately stripped of any agency over the dinner conversation. That role was monopolized by Lady Tunito, who seemed possessed by a singular, grim determination to make the atmosphere as agonizingly awkward as possible.
"It isn't that I wish to be critical, mind you, now that our arrangements are finalized" she remarked, her voice pitching upward with a sharp edge. "But our Follo is destined to inherit the title from Lord Tunito. Is it truly... prudent... for our only son to wed, well...." She paused, as if the reality of it might cut her lip. "A youngest son who possesses no stake in his family's enterprises?"
Her gaze flickered toward another guest, Viscount Tamsy Caines, a golden-haired nobleman soon to be wed to Earl Zodyl Typhon. The Earl was a rising star in international diplomacy, a man of vast influence who held sprawling estates in Leicestershire and several manors in Sussex.
To Lady Tunito, that was the destiny her precious son deserved. To see Follo accept anything 'lesser' was a pain she found unbearable.
"If that is what troubles you..." Kyouka interjected, her bluntness cutting through the tension as it always did.
"We assure you that while Zanka may not manage Nijiku’s operations, his personal assets shall be appropriately allocated. This includes all assets stipulated in the marriage contract. We shall uphold your family’s honor with the utmost regard. I must insist, Lady Tunito, that you have absolutely nothing to worry about."
"Oh... is that so? Well, then. I should hate for there to be any unnecessary friction between us, Miss Nijiku." Lady Tunito flashed a thin smile, appearing somewhat appeased by the ‘guarantee.’
"The rehearsal is set for tomorrow at the parish church" Lord Tunito announced, his voice cold and laced with a weary irritation. He was the sort of man who begrudged every second wasted on what he deemed trivial, and his son’s lackluster fiancé was evidently no exception.
Zanka couldn't help but wonder how someone as soft-hearted as Follo had been raised in such a frigid household.
"In that case, might I show Mister Nijiku around the town?" Follo suggested brightly, a desperate attempt to salvage the mood. "Our town isn't that large, we could take a walk. If you’d like, I could show you the church where we..."
"Scandalous, Follo!!" Lady Tunito shrieked in horror. "You know perfectly well that a bride and groom cannot be left unchaperoned. What would people think??"
"But Mother—"
"No 'buts', Follo!"
"I shall volunteer to show Mister Nijiku the town myself" Tamsy offered, his silken voice bringing an end to the domestic skirmish.
"If you don’t mind, of course, Mister Nijiku?" He offered a smile so angelic it felt like a lifeline and Zanka seized it instantly.
"Most gladly, Lord Caines."
Zanka was profoundly relieved when that interminable dinner finally reached its end. He was even more grateful to spend the remainder of the evening with the one person who seemed genuinely friendly. Though the twilight was gray and somber, a quiet walk through the serene town was his cherished ritual.
Tamsy was waiting for him in the entrance hall. Unlike Follo, he seemed to pay little heed to that piano. When their eyes met, Zanka hurried to apologize for the delay, but the young nobleman offered a slight smile, signaling it was of no consequence. He was also kind enough not to question why Zanka insisted on carrying a staff of such peculiar design.
They walked side by side along the narrow, cobblestone streets, which were impeccably clean. Tamsy pointed out the trees he and Follo had climbed in their youth, the distant meadows where they had ridden horses, and the local pub where Follo had once sneaked out to taste his first ale. Hearing of those childhood escapades made Zanka smile, but it also underscored a bond he had never known - a siblings bond Zanka had only ever seen in his dreams.
After cutting through the village and pausing to exchange pleasantries with a few locals, they finally reached the parish church.
Even though meeting Follo had proven he wasn't a man to be called a 'death sentence' Zanka couldn't help but feel that if Judgment Day ever came, this church, without a doubt, would be the setting.
Inside, the sanctuary was draped in a hallowed silence. The faint scent of incense and myrrh hung in the frigid air. Dim light filtered through the stained glass, casting faded, blurred patterns onto the cold stone floor. Towering stone pillars braced a ceiling so dark its apex was invisible, as if a great void above were peering down at the visitors. Zanka’s footsteps echoed sharply, making him feel small and twice as nervous.
"You likely know that I, too, am to be wed this spring" Tamsy said, returning with a liturgy he had retrieved from a table near the altar. "But truth be told, I’m in no particular hurry to relocate to Yorkshire."
He looked at Zanka. "You are aware that the ceremony requires the reciting of vows? Forgive my intrusion, but I suggest you commit them to memory, it will make the proceedings far more graceful."
"Vows?"
"Yes, wedding vows" Tamsy said, arching an eyebrow. "Unless you..."
"Yes..." Zanka lowered his head in embarrassment.
"I’ve never heard of them."
It was true. Zanka had attended many weddings of business associates before moving to London, but those had always followed the traditions of his homeland - traditions that certainly involved no such recitations.
"This won't do" Tamsy said, hurriedly flipping through the pages before pressing the book into Zanka's hands. "You should start here -"
"Lord Caines?"
A voice called out from the shadows. They turned to find a young, blond priest with a patient smile. A faint scar across his eye didn't make him look frightening; rather, it gave him the air of a man who had seen much of the world.
"Father Gris!" Tamsy smiled warmly and introduced Zanka as Follo’s fiancé. He then excused himself to discuss private matters with the priest, reminding Zanka, "Read through it for now. When I’m finished, we’ll continue our tour. There is still much I wish to show you."
Zanka, accustomed to solitude and being left to his own devices by a family too busy with business to care, so long as he didn't tarnish their image, deeply appreciated Tamsy’s consideration.
"Oh, please don't worry" he smiled. "I'll see what I can do against this beast." He hoisted the book and gave a careless shrug, realizing a moment too late it might be unrefined, but Tamsy didn't seem to mind.
Left alone, Zanka sighed heavily. Rote memorization had never been his forte. He vividly remembered the agony of pulling all-nighters over textbooks, only to be met with results that were 'never good enough.'
"Right... let's see. How do these vows go?" He stared intently at the lines. He imagined himself standing beside Follo, who would be smiling patiently while Zanka stammered through the words. The mere thought made his cheeks flush. He decided to find some privacy in the small garden beside the church, where no one could see him rubbing his face in mortification.
Follo might be patient, but the others wouldn't be. He could already see Lady Tunito’s eyes flashing with venom if he failed, and his sister’s disappointed sigh beside her.
"Four lines, Zanka... just four lines. You can do this!"
"With this wine, I will ring your neck... no! I mean, with this ring, I will wine your mine?"
"Ugh! Why can't I remember this!" He began to tug at his hair in frustration.
"With this hand, I will dig your sorrows... no, I mean lift your grave!" Confusion began to take hold. His feet carried him away from the church grounds and toward the edge of the woods, step by step, without him even noticing.
"With this... with this... Candle, I will... I will... Set your mother on fire." He let out a massive sigh of defeat, though he secretly thought that setting Lady Tunito’s dress ablaze wasn't such a terrible idea.
Zanka closed his eyes and tried to focus. He pictured Follo’s smile and their meeting in the hall. He thought of the happiness they might share, the long future ahead. Perhaps he would ask Follo to teach him to ride, or perhaps he would teach Follo to play the piano, after Follo had confessed his mother didn't approve of him wasting time on music when he should be memorizing English law or Latin.
The silence of the woods calmed his mind. And finally...
“With this hand, I will lift your sorrows.
Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine.
With this candle, I will light your way in darkness.
With this ring, I ask you to be mine.”
"Wait... just now?" He blinked. That was it! Not a single word out of place! He had done it! He remembered! Zanka burst into a triumphant laugh.
Overjoyed, he began to run deeper into the snow-covered forest.
“With this ring, I ask you to be mine!!!!”
He shouted to the trees, plunging his Lovely Assistaff into the snowy ground with all his might to declare his victory.
CRACK!!!
But the ground did not answer with the solid thud of earth. Instead, there was the sickening, splintering sound of a shattered ribcage.
Wait???... a ribcage???
The mist began to swirl as if suddenly possessed. Crows shrieked a frantic warning into the night sky. A raspy, hollow laughter echoed through the trees, growing louder by the second. Zanka turned frantically, searching for the source of the sound, when he felt a massive, jarring tug on the end of his staff.
He looked down.
A hand... or more accurately, the skeletal fingers of a man, with silver rings adorning every joint, was gripped tightly around the end of his staff.
The entity hauled itself up from beneath the snow. Zanka’s eyes widened in sheer, paralyzing shock as the figure of a young tall man with weird hair style rose to his full height. He wore what had once been a white lab coat, now stained with soil, blood stains and chemical burns. The tatters of the coat revealed the ribs that had been crushed beneath Zanka’s hand (and staff).
The sound of bone grinding against bone clicked as he straightened himself to face the trembling Zanka. The cadaverous young man offered a playful, knowing smirk. One eye was wide and fixed as he spoke in a teasing, rasping drawl.
“My my... who could ever refuse such a passionate proposal?”
He raised a skeletal hand to brush the dirt from his shattered ribs before adding with genuine delight
“I do!!!”